


in from the cold

by hellornothing



Category: The Departed (2006)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Angst, without angst how could you even write fluff for these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2593760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellornothing/pseuds/hellornothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts out with a fight, which is unsurprising; the way Billy stops halfway through... that takes him aback</p>
            </blockquote>





	in from the cold

**Author's Note:**

> a very happy birthday to my dear friend viola, who i love dearly, and who is one of very few people willing to cry with me about this pairing. but it's faers birthday and that means no more crying, not to mention these two deserve some happiness in their sad little lives
> 
> warnings for brief alcohol use and swearing, and my typical overuse of italics

It starts out with a fight, cruel little quips turning into yells and increasing from there into violence, which is unsurprising; the way Billy stops halfway through, almost collapsing, tipping forward into Sean’s arms, lifted and bent with his fists raised, a choked sob catching in the back of his throat... _that_ takes him aback.

‘Costigan,’ he growls, hands gripping at Billy’s shoulders, fingers digging into the worn creases of his leather jacket, ready to tug him back and push him away, and then Billy shakes against him, and Sean just _knows_ that the kid’s knees are about to give out, and his hands change their course of action, steadying Billy, holding him up, holding him _close._

‘Bill?’ he asks, voice less a growl and more a resigned, gentle prod. ‘Soon as you can stand by yourself pal, just let me know.’

Billy pulls himself up and away as though he’s been shocked, so suddenly that Sean almost trips backwards, but he rights himself, and now they’re stood looking at each other, uncertain of what to say. It’s Sean who cracks first, looks away, folds his arms.

‘Do I want to know what that was about?’

‘Just not feeling all too great,’ Billy mutters, looking down at his feet, scuffing his shoes against the curb.

‘All that oxy messing you up, huh?’

Billy’s head snaps back up, eyes narrowed, but Sean still isn’t looking at him, and his arms are still folded tight across his chest. He’s bouncing one leg nervously. Billy thinks he gets it, the poking and digging and snapping, trying to regain some level ground, some sense of normality.

_Even keel._

He realises his cheeks feel tight with dried tears, thinks his eyes are probably still red. He knows he shouldn’t be here, that’s what this whole fight was about, but…

‘A little bit, yeah,’ he says slowly, barely an admittance, nothing more than an excuse, really. Sean’s eyes close slowly, then open again, but he still doesn’t look at Billy. ‘Look, Sarge, all I want is a few minutes, less than ten if you’re that fucking bothered, just to talk to someone who isn’t a hardened criminal who might kill me any moment, alright.’

‘So you came to a cop who might kill you any moment.’

‘It’s fucking better than the alternative, trust me.’

A pause, and then Sean finally looks at Billy again, dragging his eyes up from the asphalt, all the way up Billy’s frame, to his face, eventually meeting his gaze. There’s _another_ pause, and Billy’s getting sick of them, and then Sean huffs out a breath.

‘I trust you. I’d be pretty fucked if I didn’t, considering.’

‘Considering,’ Billy breathes, and nods slowly. ‘All I want is the chance to wash my face and talk to someone for a few minutes.’

‘Less than ten,’ Sean warns, and Billy nods again, shoves his hands in his pockets as he follows Sean up the path to his front door. ‘I’m a fucking dumbass for letting you in in the first place, this is the _last_ place you should be, so you take this and you be grateful, alright-’

‘Alright, Sean!’ Billy snaps, and Sean turns on him, teeth bared for another snarling match, before it clicks.

‘I’m not Sean to you, kid,’ he mutters, and Billy shrugs with one shoulder, something of a silent apology. ‘Alright, come in.’

As it is, ten minutes pass, and then ten more, and then Sean pours two glasses of whiskey and Billy jokes that he’d rather have beer, and then ten more, and Sean hands Billy a beer, and then ten more, and another ten, and another ten…

*****

Sean is woken by the sun on his face, cold, bright light glinting through the crack in his drapes, and he groans and rolls onto his back, scrubbing his hand over his face. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, before he registers his nakedness, and he groans again.

He hesitates before deciding there’s no delaying the inevitable, and turns his head to the other side of the bed, to the sleeping, equally naked form beside him. Except Billy isn’t there, and the covers are kicked back on his side, the pillow indented - the kid certainly stayed the night, even if he’s ducked out now. Privately, Sean hopes that he finally got a good night’s rest.

Unable to resist, he rolls over again, turning his back to the window and the drapes and the fucking sun, and stretches out his arm like he knows he did last night, when he curled it around Billy’s waist and held him close, like they were _lovers…_

The sheets are still warm. Reluctantly, embarrassed even in the privacy of his own bedroom, empty but for him, he slides over slightly, just enough to press his face lightly against the pillow Billy had used. It smells like sweat, and sex, and smoke and beer and the _kid,_ fuck it all, Sean can smell Billy on his freshly laundered pillowcases, and _fuck it all,_ he’s so glad.

The main thing though, is that the pillow is warm. Billy’s only recently left. Sean’s surprised it didn’t wake him, he sleeps on a hair trigger; a cat knocks the lid off his trash cans and he’s out of bed with a gun in his hand in a second. Sean huffs a laugh to himself when he thinks of how deeply he must have been sleeping, his first real proper night’s sleep in… for as long as he can remember, actually. He must have been tired. He must have been really worn out.

He can remember it all, of course, he’s just trying not to. He doesn’t know how he’ll feel about it in the cold light of day - repressing his feelings regarding _Billy fucking Costigan_ has taken months to perfect, and now he’s gone and fucked it all up. And for what, just for a lay? All those years building up his image, painting his mask and almost sewing it onto his face, pretending to be someone he’s not and just about accepting it, and Billy comes along with a pair of scissors and a bottle of beer one night and calmly snips it away so it doesn’t even hurt, doesn’t even _bleed,_ and…

Sean rubs the heel of his hand into his eye - he’s getting far too lost in that metaphor - and pushes himself upright, fishing for a shirt on the floor without looking, not finding one and settling for a pair of sweatpants. He splashes water on his face in the grimy bathroom, and after a cursory look in the grubby mirror, decides he needs a cup of very strong coffee to get through this morning, before he goes about working on damage control and repainting his mask.

He’s still kind of in a daze - _he slept with Billy Costigan and it was everything he’d hoped_ \- as he pads down the stairs, past the hallway and the front door, past the full shoe-rack and the key in the lock, and into the living room, to the kitchen, taking one step through the doorway...

‘How do you take your coffee?’ Billy asks without turning around, and Sean leans against the doorframe and just watches him, for a moment, in Sean’s kitchen, staring at Sean’s coffee machine, wearing Sean’s t-shirt, like this is where he’s meant to be.

‘Black,’ he answers finally.

‘Like your soul,’ Billy quips immediately, and Sean hides his small smile against the wood of the frame.

‘Exactly.’ A pause. ‘And one sugar.’

‘Because you’re surprisingly sweet.’

Sean rolls his eyes, but says, again, ‘exactly.’

Billy huffs a laugh and fiddles with the machine, and once it starts making what sounds like a promising noise, he walks quietly over to the doorway and kisses Sean full on the mouth, before he can even say good morning.

‘Ugh, morning breath,’ Billy mutters when he pulls back. Sean just stares at him. Billy’s face heats up, and he starts to take a step back. ‘Okay, one night stand, no funny morning after business, got it...’

He breaks off when Sean catches his forearm and tugs him forward again, slotting their mouths together once more, morning breath be damned, because he’s been busy _not-_ wanting this for months and it’s time, he thinks, to really say _fuck it all_ and let himself want - and _have._


End file.
